Beached & Bewitched Read online

He threaded his hand around my wrist and yanked me toward the exit, not bothering to apologize to the other passengers as he knocked them out of the way. I heard a few of them muttering murderously under their breath as we dashed by, but I barely had time to shoot them an apologetic look before we were off the ferry and racing onto a pretty street lined with palm trees waving gently in the breeze.

  I would have loved to stop and meander through some of the colorful shops dotting the sidewalk, or park myself on a bench with a cool drink and creature-watch, but Glenn’s face was a mask of determination as we navigated the maze of streets, our feet barely touching the ground.

  When we finally reached a charming pink cottage with a fat cow munching lazily on its well-manicured front lawn, Glenn barreled through the door without invitation, still dragging me behind him, and launched himself at the front desk.

  “Glenn Gulley,” he panted, releasing me and slapping his palms on the counter. “Here with Wren Winters, hatchling number A841.”

  The bespectacled woman behind the desk raised a cool eyebrow and gave me an appraising look. I tugged self-consciously on my worn jacket and smoothed back my hair, wishing I’d taken the time to make myself more presentable before leaving the house that morning.

  “Yes, Mr. Gulley.” Her voice was clipped. “We’ve been expecting you.” She cast another look my way and lowered her voice theatrically before adding to Glenn, “I’d like to have a word with you… alone.”

  Glenn crossed his arms over his chest and planted his booted feet firmly on the ground. “This concerns Miss Winters, so whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of her too. Now what in the name of the warbling willowbird is going on here? All protocols have been followed to the letter, and Wren hatched precisely thirty-seven seconds before midnight on her thirtieth—”

  “I’m afraid our records show otherwise,” the woman interrupted smoothly. She pushed an official-looking document across the counter toward Glenn and tapped her manicured fingernails on her keyboard.

  “The Hatchling Division’s report indicates that Wren Guinevere Winters”—she eyed me over the rim of her glasses, and I scowled back—“showed her first sign of magical ability at fourteen seconds after midnight on Sunday, the sixteenth of July, in the year of our Goddess Luna, thereby invalidating her magical status for now and all eternity.”

  “But that’s preposterous,” Glenn blustered, looking flabbergasted. He yanked his gold watch from his belt loop so hard that it broke off its chain with a cracking sound and flew from his hand. I caught it before it shattered on the ground and handed it back to him, and he then proceeded to shove it under the woman’s upturned nose.

  “I set my timepiece according to the watchtower, like I do before every journey into the human world to return a hatchling. Just like the IAMB has instructed me to do.” He sounded positively furious, and I could feel waves of rage and indignation rolling off his shoulders like a pungent cologne.

  “I’m sorry.” The woman shrugged. “There’s really nothing more I can do once the official report has been signed and sealed. Miss Winters’s certificate has already been scheduled for burning, along with the other duds.” She glanced at a tarnished silver grandfather clock in the corner. “The ceremony is set to begin at half past noon.”

  “Half past noon?” Glenn echoed, following her gaze to the clock. “Jumping gerbils, that’s only thirty minutes from now!” He slid a fresh handkerchief from his pocket—how many did he have in there?—and began wiping his brow feverishly.

  “Look, Imelda,” he said, squinting to read her nametag and adopting a placating, honey-sweet tone, “there’s obviously been a mistake here, so why don’t you be a lamb and ring up the Hatchling Division, and we’ll all get this straightened out in a jiffy?” He gave her an endearing smile and held out a square of peanut brittle. “Munchie?”

  “No, and no,” she replied brusquely, yanking the report back from him and filing it away in her desk. “Lord Macon has already signed off on the certificates, and so my hands are tied. I suggest you book Miss Winters on the four o’clock ferry back to the mainland or else you’re both going to be in violation of IAMB Section 120.” She sniffed daintily. “I highly doubt you want to be brought up before the High Court—”

  Suddenly Glenn’s hand shot up, and though the woman’s lips were still moving, no sound came out. Looking entirely unfazed—I suspected she had no idea she’d been muted—she continued scolding him, but he was no longer paying her any attention. “That’s it!” he said to me, his eyes lighting up. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

  “Think of what?” I eyed him warily.

  “They’ll have to see me,” he continued, as though he hadn’t heard me. “And I won’t leave until they do, even if I have to strap myself upside down to the tallest tower of the courthouse in protest until my ears start to bleed. Lord Macon wouldn’t want the bad publicity, he’s too worried about winning the next election, the old showboat.”

  “I don’t think that’s necess—”

  But before I could finish my sentence, Glenn had seized my arm again and was running for the door, dragging me behind him. “Magi-cab!” he called, waving his free hand frantically as passersby turned to stare at us.

  A squat pink car appeared before us with a loud crack that sent me stumbling over the curb in alarm, and a lanky man wearing aviator goggles jumped out and caught me moments before I was run over by a passing unicyclist who glared at me without stopping to see if I was okay.

  As soon as I steadied myself, Glenn shoved me unceremoniously into the backseat before plopping down beside me, breathing heavily and looking as though he might pass out from all the excitement. “Take us to the courthouse,” he said without delay as the man slid behind the wheel. “And use the bat-wing boost. I don’t care what it costs.”

  “You got it.” The man tugged his goggles down over his eyes and fiddled with a panel of buttons on the dashboard. My hands flew to my ears as the car began emitting a high-pitched whistling sound and lurched forward, almost hitting a bench on the sidewalk, before two black, leathery wings sprouted from its side mirrors.

  As I hung my head out the window, mouth hanging open in awe, the car reared back, flapped its powerful wings, and soared up into the air. The buildings looked diminutive and the people like ants as the car leveled off just below a layer of cotton ball clouds. Cerulean water surrounded the land in all directions as far as the eye could see, and far beneath us, I could just make out the white pinprick of a boat chugging away from the island.

  “It’s all so beautiful,” I whispered to myself, smiling as the wind whipped my hair around my face.

  Glenn leaned forward and, resting his hand on my shoulder, followed my gaze out the window to the water below. “Wren Winters,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice, “welcome to Magic Island.”

  Chapter 5

  Far too quickly, the car began its descent through the clear afternoon sky, sweeping in for a smooth landing in front of an imposing-looking Gothic-style building made entirely of black marble that glistened in the brilliant sunshine. After handing over a fistful of bronze coins to the delighted cabbie, Glenn heaved himself out of the car and began nervously smoothing down his gray hair.

  “I suppose you’ll have to do,” he said, wincing as he took in my worn jacket and faded jeans, which looked particularly shabby next to the stately building looming over us. “Too bad we didn’t have time to stop at Callista’s Closet to get you a wardrobe upgrade. She has the best fashion sense on the island, and you, well…”

  He hesitated and picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. “I know I’m a bit out of touch with the mainland fashion scene, but is the ragamuffin look en vogue right now?”

  “Is that where you shop?” I asked, ignoring the insult and keeping my voice deliberately neutral as I shielded my eyes with one hand. The sunlight was playing across his neon-pink suit jacket and yellow shirt, practically blinding me, and though I didn’t want to
point this out, at least a dozen people had done a double-take at his outfit since we’d stepped off the ferry.

  “Not me.” He puffed out his chest and fingered the lapels of his suitcoat. “Custom-made, the lot of it.”

  He began striding toward the building’s double doors, with me hot on his heels; I felt like a fish out of water in this strange place, and I wasn’t about to be left alone, even for a moment. A raven-haired man who was wearing an 1800s-style suit and lounging near the courthouse entrance flashed his fangs suggestively at me as I followed Glenn inside, and my heartbeat sped up. But when I turned around for a better look at him, he seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

  With his face set in determined lines, Glenn stormed through the foyer, where a man-sized blue and green parrot followed our progress through beady eyes from its perch in the center of the room. We approached a solid gold door guarded by two burly men holding wands, their thick, muscled arms crossed over their equally muscled chests.

  The man on the right stepped forward and held out his hand to halt our approach. “The High Court is in session.”

  “That’s precisely why I’m here,” Glenn said, attempting to brush past him, and motioned for me to follow. I stepped forward, but was immediately confronted with a wand in my face as the man on the left did the same to Glenn.

  “Step aside, boys,” Glenn said, fire in his voice. “I’m here on official hatchling business, and I intend on getting inside that room whether you let me through or not.”

  He drew himself up to his full height, which, admittedly, wasn’t much, but I felt a sudden burst of pride in him as he squared off against the much larger men, who by now were exchanging smirks of amusement. My blood pressure rose a few notches as the wand inched closer to my face and began emitting blood-red sparks.

  “No one passes,” the second guard said, sneering at Glenn. “Don’t make us call Millicent over.”

  I heard a deep, booming squawk behind me, and turned to see the enormous parrot stretching her wings threateningly. Her yellow gaze pierced mine, and a shiver of fear ran down my spine. I didn’t fancy finding out how much it would hurt to be snapped in two by her beak of steel.

  “Glenn,” I hissed, my eyes still on the bird, “maybe we should just—”

  “Don’t you dare threaten me with that feathered beast,” Glenn growled, clenching his fists at his sides as the parrot let out another squawk and stepped toward us. “I am a well-respected guide and a longstanding senior member of the Sparrow Coven, and I will not be treated like a common criminal. Now once again, I ask you to step aside, or I shall be forced to take matters into my own hands.”

  His arms went rigid, and I could feel power emanating from him. The guards didn’t seem to notice, though, for the one on the left threw back his head and laughed. “Let’s go, old man,” he said, grabbing Glenn forcefully by the upper arm.

  The other man made a move to do the same, but before he could get a grip on me, he was blasted sideways. The guards slammed into opposite walls with a sickening thud and slid to the ground, unconscious, their heads lolling to the side. At the same time, a crash from behind drew my attention, and I whipped around to see a shimmering cage enclosing the parrot, who was thrashing against it in rage.

  “Let’s go,” Glenn said, yanking open the gold door and shoving me forward. “That won’t hold her for long, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t particularly feel like being her afternoon snack.”

  We stepped through the door into a circular room decorated entirely in white, from the white marble dais at the far end to the glittering white curtains billowing softly around the floor-to-ceiling windows. Though voices had been speaking when we entered, the room was immediately bathed in stunned silence as the men and women sitting on the dais in plush high-backed chairs gazed down at us.

  My shoes squeaked conspicuously against the immaculate floor as Glenn guided me forward, not stopping until we were standing directly below a man seated on an ornate white throne in the middle of the dais.

  He wore black velvet robes threaded with gold, a crown of entwined gold leaves sat on his snow-white hair, and he was holding a long pewter wand wrapped in bands of gold. In his other hand, a gavel was hovering in midair as he glowered down at us, his dark eyes snapping with rage.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes at me while he addressed Glenn, whose earlier surge of power seemed to have evaporated in this man’s presence.

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Lord Macon,” Glenn said, plucking his hat from his head and twisting it nervously in his hands. “But I have a matter of considerable urgency to bring before the High Court. It simply cannot wait.”

  He hunched over in a gesture somewhere between a bow and a curtsy as the other men and women on the dais exchanged interested looks and settled back in their chairs, as if waiting for a performance to begin. I got the distinct impression that they weren’t used to having someone barge in on them.

  “Mr. Gulley.” Lord Macon smiled down at him coldly and made a grand gesture toward the waiting men and women, the long sleeves of his robes sweeping against the floor. “I would be most intrigued to know what matter of yours is so urgent that it necessitated such boorish manners, not to mention an infraction that, should I decide not to be in a gracious mood, would land you in the penitentiary for no less than a fortnight.” He gave me a curt nod. “Along with your companion, Wren Winters, of course.”

  I gulped. How did this man know my name?

  Seeming to gather a little more of his courage, Glenn straightened his shoulders and took a sideways step toward me. “The Hatchling Division has committed an egregious error, and only you can set it right, Lord Macon.”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder; I could feel him trembling, which did nothing to soothe my fraught nerves. “My hatchling, Wren Winters, showed her first sign of magical ability thirty-seven seconds before midnight on her thirtieth birthday, which, under Section 47 Item B—”

  “You need not quote the guidelines that I personally wrote into law, Mr. Gulley,” Lord Macon interrupted, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

  “Er, right.” Glenn paused, looking off-balance. “Um, yes, well.” He cleared his throat and glanced at me, and I gave him an encouraging smile. He was going to bat for me, after all, and deserved at least one vote of confidence in this stifling room.

  Bolstered, Glenn squared his shoulders once more. “The point is, my lord, there has been a grievous error in Wren’s hatchling report that states her magic appeared fifty-one seconds later than it did, thereby invalidating her witch status. Her certificate is set to burn in a matter of minutes, and I implore you to stop it.”

  My heart swelled at the passion in his voice, and I felt a sudden burst of affection for the old man.

  “Nonsense.”

  Silence fell upon the room once more as Lord Macon’s imperious gaze landed on me, and he swept his eyes over me in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable. Of course, the sneer on his face didn’t exactly help matters. The other members of the court were looking at me also, though with expressions of sympathy rather than disdain.

  Glenn frowned. “I—I beg your pardon?”

  Lord Macon leaned forward and jabbed his wand in Glenn’s direction. “I said, Mr. Gulley, that your story is nonsense. Never in the history of Magic Island has there been an error in timekeeping—it’s simply not possible, with all the safeguards we have put in place. You are simply trying to cover for your own error in judgment.”

  He banged his gavel on the table in front of him. “This matter is closed. Wren Winters will be sent back to the mainland, and there will be a full inquiry into whether you are still fit to be a guide, Mr. Gulley.” He paused, then softened his voice almost imperceptibly as a few members of the court gasped. “There is no shame in retirement.”

  Glenn opened his mouth, looking as though he was about to argue, but Lord Macon fixed him with such a fierce glare that I felt a cold sweat brea
k out over my own forehead. This was clearly not a man to be trifled with, and even though my entire being was now yearning to remain on the island and learn about this strange new world, and my place in it, I wasn’t about to let Glenn suffer the consequences.

  I headed toward the door, dragging Glenn behind me, then froze in place as a thought struck me. Without warning, I swung back around and strode over to the dais, planting myself directly beneath Lord Macon. Was it my imagination, or did his face pale slightly as his eyes met mine?

  “What about the garden gnome?” I demanded, my voice sounding much braver than I felt. “That had to be magic, and it happened well before midnight.”

  “The garden gnome?” An older woman with bright red hair wound around her head in a beehive hairdo leaned forward from beside Lord Macon to get a better look at me. “Did you have a magical encounter prior to the one Glenn is referencing?”

  A flurry of murmurs rose up around the dais as the others glanced quickly at Lord Macon, who looked simply furious, before directing their attention to me.

  “The little ceramic gnome in my garden saluted me,” I said, my face growing warm under their gazes. “He’d never done that before, and—”

  “Miss Winters,” Lord Macon interrupted smoothly, “I suggest you not waste this court’s time with tall tales in order to sneak your way onto the island. You’ll find that intruders are most unwelcome here.”

  “I’m not an intruder, and I’m not telling tall tales!” I said hotly, color rising in my cheeks. Beside me, Glenn let out a tiny moan that I ignored. “I’m telling you, the gnome in my garden came to life yesterday morning. When I asked him to protect my tomato plants.” Even in my own head, the words sounded ridiculous, and I could tell by the stifled snorts of laughter around the dais that several of the others agreed.

  Lord Macon opened his mouth to speak again, but the redheaded woman beat him to the punch. “There’s only one way to settle this,” she said, and snapped her fingers three times.